Madonna Hanlon
by piperup1030
Summary: Madonna. Maddie. Mad Maddie. She has a lot of names, but you're bound to know her. When Madonna Hanlon saves John Watson's stolen wallet one night, he and Sherlock slowly realizes that the stubborn girl under the wool peacoat may be more than society may assume.
John Watson walked home from yet another bad date. Was it something he said? The way he acted? His posture? All in all, he didn't know, but it was obvious that she wasn't interested. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his brown coat and groaned.

It was dark outside, and the first signs of stars glimmered in the sky. His watch showed that it was a quarter past nine. He was currently walking in a semi-secluded area. Trees to his left and a wall that separated him from the busy street to his right. It was quite peaceful, though, so he didn't mind too much. But honestly, he just wanted to get home.

The sound of crickets and car motors filled his ears, so John didn't hear the person behind him right away. He didn't give it too much thought, figuring it was just someone in a hurry to catch a cab.

He was taken by surprise when the person, a man, rammed into him and stuffed one hand into each pocket. Within seconds, the man had John's wallet and was off running. "Hey! You get back here!" John yelled as he took off after the burglar.

This night had already sucked, John really didn't need this. He wished Sherlock was with him, that would have made this a whole lot easier. But alas, he was all by himself, now passing the second block with the man still thirty meters in front of him.

John's legs began to burn and it was getting hard to take steady breaths. His full stomach and low level of energy didn't do any good for him, either. The man was now ahead by forty meters, and John was losing hope.

Eventually the man swung a corner. John followed, but he was too late. The man was nowhere to be seen. He growled and kicked a nearby trash bin. "Damn it all!" He huffed.

John gave another heavy sigh and turned around. How on earth would he explain to Sherlock that he had a crappy date _and_ got his wallet stolen? Sherlock would show no sympathy, he knew that already. He'd probably either laugh at him or call him an idiot. Of course, neither of those would really hurt his feelings, John was honestly used to it and learned to not take any insults too seriously.

John stuffed his hands into his pockets again, a scowl plastered onto his face. "This whole night has been crap…" he mumbled.  
Suddenly, he heard a cry in the distance. Something like pain or frustration, maybe both. John's head immediately turned to search for the noise. Nothing looked out of order, from what he could see…

But someone shot out of one of the many pockets of the alley. She looked young, but not like a child. She had long blonde hair and wore a wool peacoat. In one hand, she held something small, and she used the other to keep a fedora from flying off of her head. The girl's heavy black boots pounded the pavement below her.

John followed her with his eyes and took careful look at the thing in her hand. And then it hit him like a slap in the face.

"H-hey!" He broke into a run again, but his wobbly legs were tired and he wasn't nearly as fast as he was a few minutes ago. He left the alley and stopped in the middle of the street, where the girl was about thirty-five meters ahead of him. Finding it useless to run, he cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, "THAT'S MY WALLET!"

As John bent over with his hands on his knees, he kept his head up and watched the girl. She skidded to a halt and looked at the leather pouch. He just barely heard her say, "Oh!" and let out a sigh of relief when she turned around and sprinted toward her.

"Sorry 'bout that!" she said, handing him the wallet. "I've been in a row wif' the man who stole your wallet for a while, thought I'd mess wif' him for a bit."

John looked up at her. She had long blonde hair with light brown roots, and in the bland streetlight, noticed that her right eye had some sort of defect. The iris was bigger than the one in her left, and there was no pupil. It reminded him of a marble. There was no way she'd be able to see out of it.

"Are you alright, sir? You look a little shaken." She said, bending down slightly to meet his gaze. John took one deep breath and straightened his back. "Yes, I'm quite fine, thank you by the way." He pursed his lips and glanced around. "What… happened to the man, exactly?"

"Ah, knocked him out for a bit." She took her fedora off and scratched the top of her head. "He should be awake in a half hour or so."

"Y-you…?" John cocked his head. He shouldn't be too surprised, having lived with Sherlock for the past two months. "Just- nevermind." He looked down at her. "It's not safe in this part of the city at night. Where do you live? I'll walk you home." He sighed.

"Oh, no, not necessary." She shook her head and put the fedora back on and grinned. "I know this part of the city like the back of my hand!" She turned to leave. "Nice meeting you, sir!"

"Wait!" John reached his hand out. "You just managed to get my wallet back. Please it's the least I can do."

She turned around. "I live under the Waterloo Bridge. You still wanna walk me home? Go right ahead!"

John stepped back. Waterloo Bridge? Sherlock mentioned something about that before, but what was it?

And then it hit him.

"You're homeless?" He asked quietly.

"Yes! I was born underground! But I don't want your pity, I'm fine as it is!" She threw her hands up in the air.

John swallowed and clenched his teeth. From their small conversation, he had observed that she was sensitive about the "homeless" topic and was a rather proud person. It suddenly got dark, for a thick cloud had passed over the moon. John looked up. "How about I get you something to eat and then I'll get you home… don't think of it as pity. I'm saying thanks for my wallet." Even though they both knew that last part wasn't true, nobody spoke up.

The girl cracked her knuckles. "...Fine. You know what? Fine. I'll take it." She pulled a smile and nodded, giving him a silent thanks.

"Alright then," John said as he started to walk. "Let's go then, shall we?" He watched as the girl met her pace with ease. "I never caught your name?"

She glanced up at him, a small grin on her chapped lips. "Mad Maddie. But just Maddie works too."

He stopped. " _Mad_ Maddie?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "You get funky names when you grow up with the homeless. I got an uncle named Zanko." Maddie turned to fully face him. "And you don't get brand names, tha's what my name is, on accident. I'm sure you'll learn that if you stick around." She smirked and winked at him before walking off again. "And your name?"

John trotted up to her, meeting her pace. "John. John Watson." He looked down at Maddie, only to see her smiling at him. "What, have you heard of me or something?" She just laughed and looked down. John laughed. "What?!"

Maddie just shook her head, still smiling. They caught a cab, where John told the cabbie to head for Baker Street. He would just take her to Speedy's, figuring it was convenient. On the way, they talked. Maddie explained to him what the difference between "brand name" and "nickname" was. A brand name was something you get for something you are or a physical trait (where she emphasized that "Mad Maddie" _was_ a brand name, but not to think she was _completely_ insane,) while a nickname was just something that person was called because it just caught on, or they chose it. This is what Zanko had.

John smiled slightly. He brought up the fact that he had been in the army.

"And you got sent back 'cause you got shot in the leg," she said bluntly.

John looked at her. "How do…?" He would expect this from someone like Sherlock or Mycroft, but not a young girl like her.

"You limp. It's mostly healed, but it comes out a little bit when you're tired, apparently." She grinned devilishly. "I don't think you were an actual soldier, either, proba'ly a doctor or something. I can tell from the way you carry yourself. Am I wrong?"

John slowly shook his head. Maddie smirked. "Don't underestimate me."

John nodded his head. "Got it."

The cab pulled over next to his apartment and Speedy's, John paid, and they hopped out. Maddie smiled at the cafe, it looked cute. She'd been inside a couple crappy ones on the bad side of London, but this one looked much nicer. John held the door open for her and they went inside.

"I already had dinner, so I won't get anything. Uh… what do you want?"

 _Crap._ Maddie stiffened. She couldn't read the menu. "Uh… what's good?"

John shrugged. "Uh… the grilled cheese is good, I guess." Maddie nodded and John ordered that for her before finding a table. "So… how old are you, exactly?"

"Thirteen." She sat a little taller and took her coat off. "How 'bout you?"

He sighed. "Thirty six."

"That ain't' so bad." She shrugged.

John's phone went off. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the glowing screen.

 **Where are you. You said you'd be back a half hour ago.**

 **SH**

John huffed and texted back that he was at Speedy's. Less than a minute later, Maddie had her food and Sherlock texted back that he'd be walking into the diner. Thirty seconds go by, and there he was.

"Sherlock," Maddie and John say in unison. John looked at Maddie while she set the sandwich down, wiped her hands on her jeans, and extended her right arm. "Pleasure to meet you in person."

"Do you two know each other…?" John asked, confused.

"We've never met in person, but we've definitely heard a lot about one another," Maddie said, not dropping her arm and keeping her gaze on Sherlock.

The man in the long coat and scarf caught on. "You must be Mad Maddie…" Sherlock reached out and shook her hand. "Hmph. Never would I have suspected that the near mastermind was a child."

"Teenager. I'm thirteen." She said sharply. John remembered the "don't underestimate me" comment in the cab and laughed a little. Maddie smirked, "Near mastermind, eh? I'll take that for fifth in charge."

"In charge of what?"

"My homeless network," Sherlock said, casting a side glance at his partner.

John's eyes widened. "Her? In charge of nearly two hundred people?" He looked at her.

Maddie smirked. "Impressive, eh?"

John looked at her. "Yes, very." He may have imagined it, but her eyes flashed. Now that he had absolute attention, he picked up even more about her. Her skin was dirty, but looked like there was a poor attempt to clean it. Her hair would have been a shade lighter if it had a proper wash. Her hands were calloused and cracked. Her lips were dry and blistered. And one thing that he found very interesting was her clothes. Her coat looked as if it was passed down from multiple generations, her fedora was pockmarked with small holes, the bottoms of her boots were caked with mud, and her shirt and pants were wrinkled beyond compare. Maddie looked like a homeless person who tried hard to look socially acceptable.

That or he just hung around Sherlock too much.

Sherlock dropped his hand. "Mad Maddie is a very big deal in the homeless network, but refuses to meet with me or anyone else in person," he said to nobody in particular. "Therefore this is a rather special occasion."

Maddie nodded. "Therefore, you will not tell anyone in your network about this meeting, if you know what's good for you." Even though she was barely a teenager, the maturity in her voice made her sound like a strong, middle-aged woman.

Sherlock nodded. "Of course." He turned to John. "It's about time we get home, isn't it?"

As if they were in a movie, thunder rumbled at that moment. Outside, it was pouring. John should've paid attention to the clouds from before. He heard Maddie sigh and say. "I'm afraid so. I should be getting back. Thank you for the meal, you shall be rewarded in the future." She tipped her hat to the two men and turned for the door.

"Wait a second," John called. Maddie stopped in her tracks and turned, her head tilted to the side. He looked outdoors at the rain and took a deep breath. "...the rain's pretty bad. You could stay the night with us, in our flat, if you'd like."

"What?" Maddie and Sherlock said in unison. John turned to Sherlock and gave him that _what-the-hell-are-you-doing_ look.

"Oh, I don't want to inconvenience you even more. Really." Maddie waved her hand as she continued to the door.

"Maddie, please." John said. "You'll get sick in this weather."

Maddie stopped. She turned a bit, as if she were about to speak to him, but kept her eyes glued on the glass door. Yes, it was pretty bad out there. And she knew she… didn't have the best immune system. She'd been sick so many times these past few years. And it wasn't fun.  
"Fine," Maddie turned to look at them. "I'll stay… thank you, by the way." She smiled a bit. "Really."

John nodded, a silent "you're welcome," and led her out. Sherlock huffed and followed them.

Mrs. Hudson was out for the weekend, so Maddie would have to sleep on their couch. Sherlock didn't seem very happy, but Maddie insisted that that was more than enough. John unlocked the door and they stepped inside.

John allowed her to shower. He set up a few blankets and a pillow on their couch for her. He smiled a little. Sure, Maddie was defiantly odd, but then again, whilst living with Sherlock, he didn't mind odd. And at least she was kind to him.

A while later Maddie walked out of their bathroom, the same clothes on her as before and her hair in a braid, held by a rubber band. She saw the setup and thanked John.

"Oh really, it's no problem." John shook his head.

Maddie straightened her back. "This is awf'ly a lot for jus' a wallet," she said with a raised eyebrow. It really was odd for her, the nicest people usually only gave her a few pounds. Not invite her into their homes.

John shrugged. "Well… I just think you may deserve it. And thanks again, for the wallet." He sighed and stuck his hand in his pockets. "Anyways, goodnight." He smiled at her and turned to leave."

"Madonna," he heard her say. John turned to look at her. "Pardon?"

"Madonna," she repeated. "My… my real name." The girl put her finger to her lips and smirked a bit. "But don't tell anyone, if ya know what's good for ya."

John paused. He smiled a little, "Goodnight, Madonna."

The next morning, John walked down to the kitchen. The couch was vacant. Confused, he looked over at Sherlock. "Did you see her leave?"  
Sherlock looked over, as if he forgot there was someone there in the first place. "No," he said.

John huffed. He didn't think much about it, though. What Maddie had told him last night, he had a feeling there was a meaning to it he didn't understand. He smiled slightly.

He knew she'd be back.


End file.
